


Marks

by TurtleNovas



Series: Aranlyde/Nasilovat Legacies [10]
Category: Star Wars: The Old Republic
Genre: Emetophobia, Knife Play, M/M, OC: Lyoshka, OC: Vasiliy, Possessive Behavior, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-31
Updated: 2014-03-31
Packaged: 2018-01-17 16:09:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 738
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1393927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TurtleNovas/pseuds/TurtleNovas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aleksei doesn't like when other people leave scars on Vasiliy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Marks

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Knifeplay. Emetophobia trigger. Could ping a trigger with physical abuse, though both characters are fully consenting. They have a very dark relationship.  
> Prompt: Fixed

"You are a stupid, reckless fool, and you could have gotten yourself killed!" Aleksei pushes him back onto the table as he speaks, pressing a syringe viciously into his neck and scowling emphatically as the click and hiss of the discharge sounds in the room. Then, his hands are there, poking and prodding, looking for the weakest points around the raw, gaping wound that is Vasiliy's shoulder, and drawing the Force through them angrily. "This is going to scar, you know." He buries a finger to the last knuckle in Vasiliy's flesh, just because he can, and then adds wasphisly, "You stupid fucking cunt." 

Vasiliy can't help the strangled, keening noise that escapes him, or the fond smile that follows it. "I know," he replies, voice choked and barely audible. Aleksei pokes him again, but this time, there is the horrendous, aching itch of his flesh knitting itself back together to accompany the sharp agony. 

Aleksei looks at him, face set hard. "You know I hate it when you let other people mark you." 

"I know," he says again, an apology hiding somewhere in his tone, and this time, when Aleksei's hand falls on him, it's gentle, pressed flat against his chest, away from the wound. 

"You worried me." 

"I'm sorry." Vasiliy circles Aleksei's wrist with his fingers, pressing lightly at the pulse. "I wanted something you would have to fix. It's been so long." 

There is a brief moment of surprise in Aleksei's eyes, and then it slithers away, replaced by softness, and a smile. "You are hopeless." He shakes his head, looking away, but there is no hiding the fondness in his voice, or the heat in his eyes. 

For a long moment, they stay like that, Aleksei's hand pressed hot, and blood sticky agains Vasiliy's chest, but then Vasiliy moves, leaning into him, and reaching around to retrieve something from the med station behind him. When he sits back, he is holding a short knife between them, black metal gleaming harshly in the white light of the medbay. Aleksei hesitates for the barest second before plucking it from his hand, fingers wrapped delicately around the hilt.

Vasiliy grins, baring his teeth. "Do it," he says, and leans back, making room for Aleksei to crowd further into his space. 

In an instant, he is there, knee braced between Vasiliy's thighs as he drives the knife deep into his shoulder, burying it to the hilt, and raking it down, following the arc of the wound he'd just mended. Vasiliy is not sure if he screams or not, can hear only the wailing rush of blood in his ears as his vision is torn away, splashed with white as agony screams through his body. He can feel bile rising in his throat, means to warn Aleksei, but isn't sure if he succeeds before the acrid, hot vomit fills his mouth and splatters onto whatever is in front of him.

He chokes on a gasp, gulping desperately for air, but breathing in the remnants of his sick instead. He coughs, and it feels like his arm has been sawed off, hanging by the barest thread of ragged, broken flesh, broken anew with each hacking breath. He clutches blindly, vision swimming, still mostly painted white or black. After a moment, he finds Aleksei, pulls him close, and chokes on another wave of misery. He feels Aleksei pull away, and realizes he can hear again as the clatter of metal hitting the floor echoes defeaningly through the room. Then, Aleksei is with him again, pressed tight against him, voice a quiet, comforting stream of nonsense. 

A moment later, there is a rush of nearly unbearable heat flowing through him, stealing away the breath he'd only just managed to retrieve, but in it's wake, there is a blissful numbness, and Vasiliy realizes that Aleksei has given him more stims. The pain is only a dull roar, now, and he can feel Aleksei's breath against his mouth, can register Aleksei's weight across his thighs, sitting in his lap to gain a better vantage to comfort him. He opens his eyes, wondering when he'd closed them, and sees nothing but Aleksei's face, angry, and aroused, and worried. It pulls a smile out of him, and he's almost laughing when he croaks, "How's it looking?"

Aleksei scowls. "Like you're mine," he says, and presses his mouth hard against Vasiliy's, heedless of the mess between them.


End file.
